


Win Some, Lose Some

by pareidoliajules



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pareidoliajules/pseuds/pareidoliajules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are people who love sports, there are people who hate sports, there are people who utterly ambivalent toward sports, and then there's Roderick, who just wants a slow day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Win Some, Lose Some

The Ohio State Buckeyes were having a dream season, and Roderick felt like he was the only one in the whole school who wasn’t over the moon about it. Even people who didn’t care about football, even the people who knew nothing about football, even the people who hated football--everybody was excited, because the Bucks were undefeated.  
Roderick was a freshman with an as-of-yet undeclared major, who had received financial help to get into the school in the first place. Some of this help was by way of workstudy.

  
His workstudy was the reason he was standing in the OSU Barnes & Noble, trying not to look too miserable as yet another herd of his classmates wandered obliviously past him, nattering about the upcoming game. Roderick wasn’t entirely sure who was playing, just that it was a big deal, and the older employees were nervous about how the Bucks might do (and how this might affect apparel sales).

  
“Why the long face?” Roderick looked up and rolled his eyes fondly at Madison, who had a stack of textbooks piled high in her arms. Roderick set down the pens he’d been reorganizing and took a few from her, helping her get them to the counter for stocking.

  
“No longer than usual, Madison,” he said, shrugging. “Just thinking about this weekend.”

Madison nodded understandingly. She worked Saturdays with him, but unlike Roderick, she wasn’t allergic to sports. In fact, she--along with her twin brother--were on the gymnastics team, since apparently OSU wouldn’t allow freshmen on the cheer squad. Roderick only knew this because Madison complained about it. Frequently.

“It always calms down once the game actually starts, though,” Madison said, picking up a messy pile of clothes someone had mistakenly dumped at the books desk instead of the apparel counter. Roderick grabbed the entirety of the books Madison had been holding and followed her.

“Yeah, I guess,” Roderick allowed. “I just wouldn’t mind if they lost a game one of these days.”  
“Rod--”

“What did you just say?”

Both Madison and Roderick froze, staring at each other with wide eyes. Roderick set down the books on a nearby shelf and turned to meet their accuser, who was tall, blond and looked deeply, personally offended.

“I--I said--”  
“Why would you even _say_ that? Why would you put that energy into the universe, dude? This is the best season we’ve had in years!”  
“I know, I--”  
“Are you from Michigan or something? Are you rooting for _them_?”  
“No!”  
“That’s even worse, then!” The guy made a scoffing noise and shook his head. “If you’re gonna be a traitor, at least have a reason!”  
“I’m not a traitor!” Roderick managed, spluttering and embarrassed, bright pink. Madison had tried to escape, but the guy turned to look at her.  
“What about you? Are you also showing negative team spirit?”  
“No!” Madison squeaked, and then carried on, more smoothly, “He was just--because it gets busy? I love football!” Madison added; Roderick was briefly worried this guy might try to get them fired, and briefly worried that their manager might be crazy enough to go through with it, but with one final headshake and a disappointed sigh, the guy turned away and headed toward the checkout.

Roderick let out a shaky breath. “Guess I should learn to watch it at work, huh?” Madison chuckled a little and nodded; they didn’t have a chance to speak again for the rest of Roderick’s shift, which was just as well, because he wouldn’t have been a very good conversationalist anyway: how could he have been so stupid? He’d be lucky if he kept his job if that sort of thing kept happening, had he needed to keep his job so he could stay in school, and he had to stay in school so he could make something of his life. What exactly he wanted to make he wasn’t quite sure, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to if he flunked out of college because he didn’t get his measly 300$ paycheck anymore.

Two days later, Roderick was talking to one of the cashiers--Mercedes, a junior, the first person to be nice to him at work--when he felt an aggressive tap on his shoulder. Roderick turned and nearly passed out: standing before them was the blond guy, flanked by a guy with a mohawk and a guy who was--well, he seemed fascinated by the Coach Meyer bobblehead in his hand, but when the mohawk guy nudged him in the ribs he snapped back to it.

“Look, if you’re gonna beat me up can’t you at least wait until I get off work?” Roderick asked, pleaded, before he could stop himself. These guys were every guy that had picked on him in high school, every jerk that shoved him or tried to break his glasses or take his bus fare.

“Dude, we’re not gonna beat you up.” The bobblehead guy said, seemingly genuinely stunned and confused. Then again, he looked like the sort of guy who got confused about ordering breakfast.

“And if we did, it wouldn’t be in front of a lady,” Mohawk added, grinning over Roderick at Mercedes, whose hand was halfway to her radio. She narrowed her eyes at him and didn’t reply. They were all still for a moment, and then Mohawk gave Angry Blond Guy a pointed shove.

“So I told these guys what you said,” he said, after shoving Mohawk back absently. “Thinking they’d be on my side because _who does that_ , but--I guess I was kind of an asshole.”

“Kind of?” Mohawk repeated, crossing his arms. “Come on, Porter. Try harder.”

The blond--Porter--sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I had a test right after I was stressed about and you didn’t do anything wrong.”  
Bobblehead guy cleared his throat. Porter, unseen by the other two, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then looked back at Roderick.

“Here.” He handed Roderick an envelope. “Have you been to a football game, even?”  
Roderick shook his head, opening the envelope slowly. Inside were two tickets. Roderick brought his eyes back up to the gang of boys; the two in back high fived. Maybe they mistook his confusion for awe, or appreciation.  
“I didn’t think so. And dude, don’t like--sell them or anything,” Porter added. “I gave them your name, they’re checking IDs.”  
Roderick blinked. “How did you know my name?” The thought of selling them hadn’t even ocurred to him, so thrown he was, but he wished it had. He’d heard people bemoaning the lack of tickets for weeks.  
“...What’s your name?”  
Roderick almost wanted to laugh. “Roderick?”  
“Okay, _now_ I’ll give them your name.” Porter grinned triumphantly and added, as an afterthought. “I’m Spencer, by the way. I gotta go, but--have fun, okay? Don’t knock it till you try it.” Mohawk clapped him on the shoulder and Bobblehead waved at them and they were almost out the door by the time Roderick regained his voice.  
“Where did you even get these?”

  
It was Bobblehead who called out the answer, careless, over his shoulder: “We’re on the team, dude!”

Roderick took Madison. It was hell getting the both of them free for Saturday, but as soon as Madison heard about it, she wouldn’t take no for an answer, not even when Roderick offered to just give her the tickets so she could take someone else, anyone else, who’d actually have a good time.  
But Madison McCarthy’s was a hard mind to change, and Roderick was ready when she knocked on the dorm room door at eight AM sharp. She was fully spirited--maybe proving a point to the cheerleaders, Roderick thought absently--with a bright red jersey (the name Hudson in all caps along the back; Roderick vaguely knew that as the last name of the Quarterback), a red and white plaid shirt tied around her waist, jeans, red white and black bangles on her wrists and a O-State sticker on her cheek.  
Roderick was wearing one of two reds shirt he owned. It was a simple t-shirt that OHIO in big letters with the logo below. The other was a red polo, which he sometimes wore to work.  
Madison raised her eyebrows but said nothing else.

“Mason’s already at the tailgate,” she informed him, pulling her phone out to send a quick text. She led them seamlessly into the throng of people migrating to Ohio Stadium; Madison didn’t even look up from her phone, oblivious to the claustrophobic suffocation in Roderick’s lungs.

(That feeling went away after the third shot of whatever it was that Madison forced into Roderick’s hands. Mason, whom Roderick had seen in passing but never properly met, was wearing an outfit identical to Madison’s. Roderick couldn’t tell if he was wasted or if he was honestly that happy and excited; either way, Roderick was concerned.)

It was a near thing, but the Ohio State Buckeyes snatched a win from Michigan State, and much to Roderick’s own amazement, he joined the rest of the crowd in screaming at the top of his lungs when the winning field goal was called fair. Mason spun Madison around laughingly and then she launched into a hug for Roderick, who laughed dazedly back. On the field, players were high fiving and clapping each other’s helmets or shaking hands with the defeated team; all save number 19, who was momentarily paused. He scanned the crowd, seemed to find what he was looking for--he smiled to himself, only rejoining the festivities when Puck yelled his name and pulled him into an impromptu, affectionate headlock.

The following Wednesday, Spencer walked into the giant Barnes & Noble that was OSU’s bookstore. He’d never spent so much time in any bookstore before, ever, but he had a point to prove, and that was worth the teasing from the team. Besides, was being called a nerd even an insult anymore? He liked to read!

“Hey, um, is Roderick here?” Spencer asked, flagging down a tired looking employee--‘TINA’, according to her nametag, who just nodded and took a swig from her coffee.  
“Back there,” she said, pointing to the apparel department. “Do you want me to call him--”  
“No!” Spencer couldn’t risk him bolting. “No, it’s okay. Thanks.” Spencer moved away, but didn’t miss the whispering he left behind; the girl who’d been working the register when Puck and Finn had forced him to come and apologize had come over to ask what was going on. She probably thought Spencer was here to harass him. At this rate, he wouldn’t be _allowed_ back in this store, and since he needed his textbooks, he couldn’t fuck it up.  
“Hey,” Spencer said, mentally kicking himself for the pitched nerves he could hear in his own voice. Roderick looked up from the shirts he was folding and raised his eyebrows.  
“Are you--” Roderick paused, swallowed, straightened his back a little. “Can I help you find something?”  
“Nah,” Spencer said. “The team gives me most of the clothes I need.” Spencer shifted a little. “Um, did you have fun? At the game? I saw you. You looked like you were having fun.”

Roderick eyed him for a minute, clearly weighing his options. Slowly, he shrugged one shoulder and went back to folding shirts.  
“Yeah, I guess,” Roderick said. “It was okay.” Sleeve, sleeve, fold the top, tuck, flip. “You’re good. I mean--based on how much people screamed whenever somebody threw to you--you’re good.”  
Spencer smiled in spite of himself; he knew he was talented, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still like to hear it. “Thanks, dude.”  
“Sure thing.”

Roderick looked back at him--they both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, both stopped themselves to allow the other, both chuckled nervously.  
“You first. ‘Cause I yelled at you.” Spencer said. “Which I am sorry for, by the way.”  
“I was just--why do you care? Why are you checking up on me?”  
Spencer was thrown; of all the things he’d been expecting, that hadn’t been one. He didn’t have a good answer, even for himself.  
“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “I was kind of a dick. Wanted to make up for it.” Roderick looked at him like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe him.  
“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “Thanks.”  
“Think I’ll see you at more games?”

Roderick laughed, quietly, and deeper than Spencer would have thought. “I don’t think so, dude. Not really my speed. Plus, getting the games off is really hard. That’s part of the reason they hired me--flexible schedule.” Spencer grinned and nodded. “But...maybe I’ll watch on TV this weekend.”  
Spencer beamed. “Fair enough, dude. Go Bucks?”  
“Go Bucks.”

Spencer left the bookstore feeling inordinately pleased with himself, but Roderick’s question continued to niggle at him: why _did_ he care so much?  
As he crossed the street and readjusted his backpack on his shoulders, Spencer pushed the thought from his mind; maybe he was just being a nice guy who didn’t have any ulterior motives. He loved football, and genuinely wanted others to enjoy it too. Maybe that’s all it was.  
Maybe.  
Somehow, as he settled into his Psychology class, he got the feeling that he wasn’t that lucky. He knew himself better than that; he wouldn’t have wasted his time if he didn’t care at least a little bit, on some level. He knew that.  
As his TA pulled up that week’s PowerPoint, Spencer made the firm decision to not think about it anymore, any of it, and certainly not the adorably flustered, overworked bookstore clerk with the soft laugh and big, dumb glasses.  
Wasn’t thinking about it anymore.  
Nope.  
Not at all.

Why hadn’t he ever thought about the name Roderick before? It was a good name. Meant good people.

No. No more. Spencer squinted at the board and focused on his notes; the hypothalamus....was so boring, and it certainly didn’t give him that funny feeling in his gut the way--

Nothing. No funny feeling, no weird thoughts, no pleasant haze surrounding the memory of their short, very short, too short, conversation. Definitely not.

Spencer Porter was definitely, completely, screwed.

 

 

Roderick, on the other side of campus, accidentally dropped a slip of paper from his pocket when he pulled his phone from his pocket. It was his ticket from that weekend, and it gave him a little swoop as he picked it up.  
He told himself it was just about the peculiarity of it, mixed with the memories of more alcohol than he’d ever had in his life--and that someone being nice to him, while unusual, wasn’t something that he needed to obsess about. College was going to be different, he’d told himself, and so far....  
So far there was Spencer Porter, wide receiver, giving him free tickets to sold-out ball games.  
So far, he wasn’t wrong. He’d never gotten any special positive attention from anyone in high school, let alone a jock type, and it was causing him a bit of a fair bit of cognitive dissonance:

  
Roderick Meeks wasn’t the sort of person people gave free things to because they felt bad.  
Roderick Meeks wasn’t the sort of person who went to football games, let alone enjoy them.  
Roderick Meeks wasn’t the sort of person to ever be in the same social universe as the Spencer Porters of the world.

He knew that.

  
And yet, his mind drifted back to the nervous smile on Spencer’s face, his forced laughter, his unexpected visits…

And yet.

Roderick knew how his world worked, and it certainly had no place for Spencer Porter. Madison, maybe Mason, maybe Mercedes, maybe even Marley, the girl who’d helped him clean up when he dropped his cereal in the dining hall--

But no Spencer Porter.

And yet?

  
Roderick got the distinct feeling he was, in some way he hadn’t quite figured out yet, screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> In which I take out my real-life, real-job frustrations on innocent Glee characters. Might be longer, especially if my stupid Hawkeyes win the stupid Rose Bowl this weekend.


End file.
